Spirit Gems
by Riverstyxx
Summary: A series of drabbles and oneshots, centering around Spyro's world and characters. Not related to my other stories. Numerous genres. Rated for certain chapters that may contain violence. Original and TLOS vers. Open to ideas and prompts.
1. First Steps

__**A/N: Ahoy there. You may be wondering what the heck I'm doing posting another story when I've already got my hands full with Residual Darkness. Well, no worries, I just felt like a bit of a break from convoluted chapter fics. As for RD, chapter 19 should be posted sometime tomorrow or the day after, and ch. 20 is off to a good start, so don't worry about that. **

**Anyway, as the summary says, this is going to be a series of drabbles and oneshots, most of which probably aren't going to be related to each other - or to my other stories, for that matter. They're just random little snippets I feel like writing whenever I get bored. Also, the quality and length of each drabble/oneshot is probably going to vary quite significantly, and I'm not going to get a beta for these either. Pretty much I'm just posting them because I feel like it; it's not really a serious thing.**

**I'll probably be going through a variety of genres, and some may be in first person while others are in third person. Often, like this little one, they're short and pretty pointless. But hey, if you're interested, feel free to give suggestions/prompts/ideas. In fact, I'd like it very much if you could. ;)**

**And no, this isn't going to interfere with RD, nor is it going to update at regular intervals. Just whenever I feel like it. I already have several written at the moment. But you can just have this little drabble (though I use that term loosely, as it's typically _supposed_ to refer to a fic of exactly 100 words, which this is not) for now.**

_**Spirit Gems**_

**First Steps**

'…_not your real son?'_

'…_came from someplace far away…'_

'…_the innocent seem to always pay the price.'_

He had never questioned his existence. He had never thought to consider the obvious differences; never wondered _why_. There had been no need to – existence just was. There had never been a _why_.

Until now.

Deep down he thought he'd always known. Somewhere in the back of his mind that thought had always lingered, suppressed for fear of the questions it raised. He had seen the impossibilities as clearly as anyone, known that his existence as he knew it could only be a lie. It was an absurdity that dragonflies could be parent to a creature such as him.

Whatever that creature was.

But he had pointedly ignored the obvious. Those questions for which there were no answers were too overwhelming for his young mind. He shut them out. Had he not, he may well have been driven mad by wonder. But he should have known the questions would rise sooner or later.

He just wished it could have been later.

The swamp was all he'd ever known, the dragonflies the only family he'd ever cared about. This place was home. He didn't think anything could ever change that. So why now did everything suddenly feel so different? The damp earth beneath his paws that had once felt so welcoming now felt cold and harsh against his scales.

_Scales._

Smooth, hard amethyst, so out of place amongst the earthy tones of the swamp. They were a memento of a life he'd never get to live, a family he'd never get to know, a world he'd never get to see. They were a reminder of a home he could have had. But the swamp was his home now.

So why did he feel so unwelcome?

"It changes nothing," he told himself, "I am still me. It doesn't matter if I am different. I have always been different. Why should things change just because I know that now? It changes nothing."

But the questions were still there, and they were still unanswered. The swamp no longer felt like home, no matter how he tried to convince himself that it was. What once had kept him safe and protected from the outside world, now felt like a cage from which he could not escape. He yearned for a world far beyond his reach; a world that should have been his own.

'_You _are_ our real son…'_

"Maybe I was once. But not anymore. My home, my life, my family is out there somewhere. I have to find them."

He had never questioned his existence.

But as he took those first steps, he knew he was seeking the answer.

**A/N: Why Spirit Gems? Dunno, sounded like a cool name for a series of drabbles and oneshots.** **Ah, writing short stuff like this is a nice change from 10 000 word chapters...**


	2. Brother

**A/N: Hey, another one. I'll just keep posting these one a day till I run out of them. Think I have about seven written at the moment. More exploring of Spyro's thoughts... I wasn't sure where this would be set in the games, but after finishing it I decided sometime just before the final battle with Malefor or something. Enjoy.**

**Brother**

The funny thing about Sparx is that he's always there. I became so used to him always being beside me that I stopped noticing he was. I'm not sure I ever told him this, but the first time I realised he was always by my side…was when he wasn't. It's sort of ironic really.

From the first memory I have of life, Sparx was there. Those memories are blurry and faded, but they're good memories. They remind me of home – my old home, that is – when everything was a lot simpler. All we had to worry about were those pesky Frogweed and who was going to be 'it' in our next game of tag. Every day was mostly the same, but I miss those days. I almost wish I could go back and live them again, just to remember what it was like to be so carefree.

But even after everything changed, and life became a whole lot more complicated, Sparx was still there. He never left my side, no matter where I went or what I did, no matter how dangerous. Somehow he was just always there. I don't remember if I ever thanked him for that.

He's crass, arrogant, cowardly and sometimes just plain rude…but I don't think I would have made it this far without him. All those bad jokes he cracked; all those playful insults he threw at me; somehow, I think they kept me going.

He was never the voice of reason, always too willing to run from danger when we needed to stand and fight, and always dependent on me to do the fighting for him. But I think, though I never really let him know, that I needed him as much as he needed me.

He was my light when everything was dark – literally and metaphorically. When I needed someone beside me, someone to give me a reason to go on, he was there. When I felt alone in the world, like everything was crashing down around me, he was at my side. When I was falling apart, he was there to pick up the pieces. He was my strength, my will, and as long as he was by my side I could go on.

Things must have been so much harder for him. He was smaller, weaker, and more fragile than I was. But no matter how afraid he was, he never ran from danger when I needed him by my side. He trusted me, he believed in me, and he never gave up on me. That was all I ever needed.

He was always there and, over time, I guess I started to take him for granted. It wasn't until he was no longer beside me that I realised just how much I need him – just how important he is to me.

I was the one who made him stay behind in the first place. I knew he would follow me to the end of the earth if he needed to, but I couldn't put him in danger like that. I knew he would never survive, and I wasn't about to let my friend – my _brother_ – die for my sake.

Looking back, I wonder now if I was being selfish. I didn't spare a thought for his feelings as he watched me leave, for once without him, to what could easily be my death. I may never know what was going through his head in that moment.

I was glad he was safe; that was all that mattered to me.

But as we made our way through the Belt of Fire, as Ignitus was lost amongst the flames, and we took our first steps into a broken, burned land, I began to realise – I had left a part of me behind. There was a hollow space inside of me, a space usually filled by the ridiculous wisecracks, stupid jokes, and unspoken trust of a dragonfly – _my brother_.

Without him by my side, for the first time in my life, I felt so dreadfully alone.

The piece of me I had always subconsciously leaned on, depended upon to always be there, was gone. That was when I realised just how much I needed him. And I had never even told him so.

But even without him beside me, he still continues to push me on. Because if there's one thing that keeps me going, one thing that stops me from giving up, one thing that gives me the determination to survive, it is this thought:

I will not die before I have let Sparx know; he is my brother, and I will always need him by my side.

**A/N: Maybe I should try to explore Sparx's thoughts at one point...** **Eh, anyway, was kinda surprised to have gotten some attention for this. Wasn't really expecting much. xD Anyway, hope you liked it.** **Oh yeah, if you feel like it, throw a word or phrase at me and I'll see if I can turn it into a oneshot. Go nuts.**


	3. Dark Beginnings

**A/N: Double update! RD just got updated, so I figured it was only fair I updated this, too. Uber short one this time, and kinda random. Not entirely sure I'm too happy with it, but eh. Kind weird and cryptic...what's the 'acid green'? I'll let you figure that one out.**

**Also...I knew I should have expected some sneaky words from you guys. xD Well, I'm always up for a challenge.  
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**Dark Beginnings**

She remembered colours. Just colours. Blurs of deep grey, muddy brown, harsh steely silver, and deadly, toxic green. They were her first memories; just swirls of dreary colour all mixed into one.

That toxic green pinpoint of light was always there, watching.

Shadows were her second memory. Dark shapes surrounded her, looming from the haze of muddy colours, reaching for her. The acid green light watched, never too far away.

The smell of damp, putrid fur would stay with her even when all other memories failed her. It sickened her, but it was the only scent she knew and in a way it comforted her.

And still the toxic green was watching – ever watching.

Searing pain rippled through her tiny, writhing body. Her first taste of pain was agonizing, unbearable, but quickly forgotten. Years later she would attempt in vain to remember what it had felt like, to compare it to more recent tastes of agony. But it would be her most elusive memory.

The sensation that followed the pain was indescribable, but she would never endeavour to describe it to anyone. It was as though suddenly she was aware of everything that was ever important, a rush of knowledge through her previously naïve mind. It had felt exhilarating, liberating…sickening.

The first thing she heard was her name, spoken in dark, grating tones. That single word would become the embodiment of her existence for the next eleven years.

She remembered opening her new eyes and seeing the world as it truly was for the first time. It was dark, cold and lonesome.

The first thing she saw was acid green.


	4. Nightmare

**A/N: Way too damn lazy to reply to anything right now...reviews, messages, whatever. I feel like crap. Have a oneshot, I'ma go lie down or something...**

**Thanks, reviewers. And thanks for the ideas, everyone. They shall be written...just as soon as I stop feeling like hell.  
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**Nightmare**

Rushing force tugged unrelentingly at his body, threatening to drag him into oblivion. His claws dug into the grooves between the stones under his feet and he lowered his head against the pulling force. It was stronger than any wind he'd ever had to fly against, but he fought it with all that was left of his strength.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a frail, black form sliding across the broken stone floor, towards the sucking void. Her crimson wings were tossed limply by the rushing wind as she was dragged tail-first to her doom. Instantly, his eyes widened in horror.

"No!"

He released his anchoring grip seconds before the limp dragoness disappeared into the bright, glowing portal. Spreading wings, he leapt, and this time the wind worked in his favour, pulling him all too eagerly after her. Energy crackled and sparked across his scales as he passed through the portal.

Seconds later, he was floating in void.

White light stretched all around him, interspersed with flashes of violent purple. The wind continued to rush, dragging him down into oblivion, but he didn't fight against it. He had already spotted Cynder far below him – her black scales stark against their white surroundings.

Desperately he dived after her, straining with all his might to reach her as she fell into the void. But no matter how fast he flew – or was he falling? – she was always mockingly out of reach. He could see her delicate face, eyes closed as though in sleep, but he could not reach her.

She was falling into void, white light embracing, engulfing her, oblivious to his yells. Then, without a sound, she faded into the nothingness, and he was falling alone, screaming her name.

Spyro awoke with a start, shaking like a leaf in a storm. It took several long minutes for him to realise where – and when – he was. His trembling, aching body lay upon the smooth stone floor of the temple, and he was surrounded on all sides by familiar, welcoming walls. The exhausted purple dragon uttered a relieved sigh, but he could not escape that nagging feeling in the back of his head.

Glancing around the room, which was gloomy with night, he spotted a familiar glowing form asleep on a bed of leaves. But it was not Sparx whom he was worried about. Anxiously, the dream still vivid in his mind, his eyes searched the room for another form. At first he thought he was alone, until he spotted a small, dark shape lying in a shaft of moonlight nearby.

Taking a deep breath, Spyro heaved himself to his feet and promptly fell back down again. He grimaced at the aches and trembles that assaulted his body, and wondered why his legs refused to take his weight. He supposed the fight in Convexity had robbed him of more strength than he had thought.

Nevertheless, determined to check on the sleeping black dragoness and dismiss that horrible nightmare, Spyro pushed himself up once more. This time his legs held, and he took several slow, shaky steps across the room. He sat down heavily when he reached her side, panting at the exertion of merely walking a few steps.

As he observed the sleeping dragoness, her peaceful face and the gentle rise and fall of her sides, he felt a rush of relief sweep through him. It had all been a nightmare. Cynder was here, and she was safe. The purple dragon allowed himself a tired smile as he lay down beside her.

Her dark scales were cold against his own, but he didn't mind. As long as she was safe, that was all that mattered. Smiling faintly, Spyro let his head fall to his paws and his heavy eyelids drift shut. It didn't take long for the soft beating of Cynder's heart to lull the exhausted purple dragon to sleep.


	5. Second Chances

**A/N: I haven't been too happy with the other oneshots I have written, so I'm kind of in two minds about posting them. Especially this one. But I don't feel like worrying about perfection and who's going to like or not like these oneshots. I'm only writing them for myself, anyway...putting some thoughts into words, even if they don't always make sense. Many of these oneshots are going to be non-canon, like this one. I just write what I have the inspiration for. And I really need to stop worrying about who is going to like, or not like, what I write.  
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**But I'll put this here anyway - WARNING: This oneshot contains character death, tragedy, possible OOCness, violence, evil Cynder, and unoriginality (I swear I've seen this scenario a million times before. Or maybe I'm just crazy).  
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**Second Chances**

Cold, harsh stone rose up to meet him as something warm and heavy slammed into his side. Tiny, sharp needles of pain pierced through his scales, deep enough to draw blood. The force of the tackle sent him rolling over the rough stone floor, as the momentum sent his assailant tumbling off him.

Gasping for breath and wincing at the stinging pin-pricks in his side, he raised himself onto his belly. He heard her stalking around him before he saw her, her deadly sharpened claws clicking on cold stone. Weakly, he raised his head.

"You don't have to do this, Cynder."

Her laugh was cold and humourless, "Just like old times, huh Spyro?"

The purple dragon groaned and pushed himself shakily to his feet. Every part of him felt weak and shaky ever since that strike from Gaul's sceptre. He wasn't sure what it had done to him, but it felt as though all the strength had been drawn from his body. Vaguely, he sensed the terrified watching eyes of Sparx somewhere behind him.

"I don't want to fight you."

Cynder's dark emerald eyes flashed angrily, "Are you really that naïve, Spyro? Do you still not understand?"

"This isn't you, Cynder," he responded tiredly, sadly, "You're not like this."

"Tch," the black dragoness hissed, eying him with disgust, "You really are a fool. Open your eyes, Spyro. You already know what I am; stop trying to deny it."

Spyro took a shaky step closer, his eyes hollow with fatigue, "I don't believe you are evil, Cynder. I _know_ you're not. The real you isn't like this."

"The real me!" Cynder uttered a barking, humourless laugh, "Oh, that's precious! You really still believe in that little act I put on, don't you? And here I really expected more from you…"

"…What are you talking about?"

A sly grin spread across her face, "Getting worried now, are we? A bit late for that. But at least you're starting to catch on…"

In one swift, fluid movement she was in Spyro's face, so close her snout was almost touching his. He winced and his eyes widened, but he didn't step back.

"Who do you think it was that lured you here, Spyro?" she hissed, "Who do you think it was that lured you away from the safety of the temple and into the hands of your greatest enemy?"

"I don't believe that," Spyro stammered defiantly, and Cynder snarled in his face.

"I'm not the helpless weakling you think I am," she growled, pacing around him, "I am _Cynder_, and I always have been. Did you really think that simply defeating me would change who I was? Did you really think that just because my form had changed, I was no longer the monster I have always been?"

"The darkness is all I have ever known, Spyro, and it is everything to me – my home, my family, my life," a look of ugly hate had settled on her formerly handsome face, "The first memory I have is of the darkness; it soothes me, comforts me. It's all I have. But there are so many horrible things in this world that I just _hate_! I hate the apes, I hate the moles, I hate those stupid Atlawa, I hate the dragons, and most of all I hate _you_, Spyro! You who tried to drag me away from my darkness, who robbed me of all my strength and powers, and turned me into this weak, pathetic hatchling!"

"And for that I will kill you tonight," she hissed darkly, "When the Dark Master returns I will be free to do whatever I want. It's a cold, cruel world out there, Spyro, so I will become the cold, cruel queen of all of it. They do not deserve my mercy; none of them!"

Spyro shook his head weakly, his sad eyes following the dark dragoness as she paced around him, "Just stop it, Cynder. You're not like this. I know you."

A howl of rage tore itself from Cynder's throat and she threw herself at the purple dragon, whipping her deadly tailblade across his side and tossing him to the ground. He hit cold stone with a gasp, blood gushing from the deep gash in his side. Sparx's terrified yells were almost drowned out by Cynder's next, furious words.

"Stop saying that!" she roared, blood-stained tailblade lashing dangerously, "I'm not your friend and I never was! All that time I spent the temple I was watching you, observing your foolish tactics, watching as time after time you failed in the training arena only for the guardians to pick you back up and coddle you like the hatchling you are! You are _weak_, Spyro! Maybe those foolish old dragons couldn't see it, but I can!"

Blood sprayed across the stone floor as her talons cut deep into his cheek. Spyro yelled in agony, limbs thrashing, before he lay twitching on the ground with blood running down his neck. His tear-filled eyes feverishly sought out Cynder's as she stood over him.

"I-I won't…fight you…"

"Then you will die a coward, foolish child!" she spat at him, whipping him again with her lethal tailblade and carving another gash in his scales, "You can plead all you want, but this time there is no trying again! You succeed or you fail, and that's that! So fight me or die, Spyro!"

Spyro winced and felt blood at the back of his throat as Cynder's claws dug into his chest. His vision was blurring, both with tears and pain, but still he met her furious emerald eyes.

"I'm…so sorry…Cynder," he gasped out, voice barely audible, "I-I just wanted…to give you…a second chance. I-I'm so sorry…"

He couldn't hear Sparx's yells anymore. He wondered if the dragonfly had fled, and decided it was for the best. But he couldn't miss Cynder's howl of anguish as she plunged her tailblade deep into the golden scales of his chest. Spyro coughed feebly, a sudden coldness spreading through his beaten body.

"You are a fool, Spyro the dragon," the dark dragoness hissed in his ear, "You have always been a fool, from the moment you entered this war. You'd think those idiot guardians would have told you…"

With a furious tug, she yanked her tailblade from his chest, spraying dark crimson blood across the cold, grey stone. Spyro twitched feebly, his eyes never leaving Cynder's, even as their light slowly faded. Her voice was the last thing he ever heard.

"…there _are_ no second chances."


	6. Regrets

**A/N: ...and then you all liked my morbidly dark oneshot and I was greatly surprised. xD Anyway, bit of a change of pace here - original Spyro time! This one was a little tricky, mostly because it's in first person and I had a little trouble establishing who it was who was speaking. But if you're a classic Spyro fan, you should be able to figure it out...I hope. Thanks to TLOSpyrogirl for the idea, too. ;) I don't have many ideas for classic Spyro, so if you got something, throw it at me. In the mean time, read this.  
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**Regrets**

There are some things in life that I regret, but is there anyone who can say otherwise? We all make mistakes, bad choices, and sometimes stray down the wrong path. We all have something we'd like to change; something we'd like to go back and do differently. When I think about the things I regret…I always find myself picturing her face.

When I was younger, I looked up to her and yearned to be just like her. She was incredible and her magic…her magic was beautiful. So unlike mine. No matter how I tried, how I practiced, I could never weave magic like she could. And she was never patient with me. But still I looked up to her.

_The Sorceress…_

That was all I knew her as, for all the years I spent in her care. If it could even be called that. I never even knew her name, but I remember some of the first words she ever spoke to me – _'You may call me Your Majesty.' _And that was all I ever called her, for many years. Now there are many more things I could call her.

Cruel.

Despicable.

Evil.

When I first learnt of her plan to kill the dragons, I was horrified. Not just because it was horrifically evil and disgustingly self-centred, but because I felt as though everything I had ever known had just been scattered to oblivion. My life was a broken, shattered heap of lies – and I had never even realised.

She had been the only family I'd known for years, and in a way I had cared about her, even if she had never cared for me. She had been a harsh teacher and I was never up to her standards. She was always disappointed in me, and so I was always disappointed in myself. I'd always felt like a failure, because I was not good enough for her. She was everything I aspired to be.

So when I found out she was not who I thought she had been, I was crushed. My hopes, my dreams, my wishes… She was my idol, and she'd fed me nothing but lies.

I formed a hatred of her, so fierce that I found myself wanting to _hurt_ her. I've never wanted to hurt anyone before; at least, not like that. I even scared myself. Her betrayal ate at my heart and soul, and if it had not been for Hunter I might have descended into the depths of despair. I wanted revenge. I needed solace for all the lies she had fed me over the years.

But did I really want her…_dead_?

I was scared that day, when Spyro went alone to face my former teacher. Scared for him, because I did not think even he could stand up to the magic of the greatest sorcerer I had ever known. And, somewhere deep inside, I think I was scared for her, too. It's hard to admit that, even to myself.

She was cruel, evil, merciless, and I had suffered much under her teaching – no physical scars, just the ones on my soul – but I could not deny that I had once idolised her in every way. Maybe I still do, in some ways. She taught me everything I know, and even though many things she told me were lies, I can't forget the impact she made on my life. She was almost like a mother to me – a cruel, heartless mother, but a mother nonetheless. And the only one I had.

When Spyro returned with news of her demise, I couldn't deny the part of me that felt as though something had been lost. Something important. I was ashamed of that feeling; I wanted nothing more than for it to go away. After all, she had been evil and her death had been something that needed to happen for the good of the world.

Was my remorse a sign that I was every bit as evil as she had been?

Those thoughts seem naïve, now, but I still remember the torment that plagued my mind. And when I found out that, somehow, she had survived…I was horrified. Horrified because it meant her reign of terror was not over – and because, somewhere deep inside, I felt elated that she was alive. And that disgusted me.

I couldn't face up to my turmoil of emotions, couldn't accept that a part of me still cared about the Sorceress as I once had. Disgusted, ashamed of myself, I did all I could to deny that feeling – and, in doing so, I helped send my former teacher to her doom.

Maybe it was Spyro who dealt the final blow, but it was me who sent her to her final rest. Without my help, he might never have defeated her and she would still be alive, tormenting the realms with her cruel malice and greed. If it hadn't been for me, my only family would still be alive.

There are some things in life I regret, choices I wish I hadn't made, and sending the Sorceress to her death is one of them. I wish I had tried to reason with her, to save her from her own greed. I wish I hadn't hated her so, because it was that hatred which blinded me to compassion. I still believe I could have saved her, if I had just opened up my heart and accepted those feelings I had been so ashamed of.

I am glad she is gone, for the dragons' sake if nothing else. But I wish, I really do, that she was still here – that she had chosen to use her beautiful magic for greater things – that I had been able to save her. She was my teacher, my family, my idol.

And I will never regret knowing her.


	7. Prince

**A/N: This one is...kinda weird. Should probably be considered AU, too. I was thinking Spyro the whole way through writing this, but it was only after finishing that I thought it could easily pertain to Malefor, too. Make of it what you will. This is what happens when I get weird ideas in my head.  
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**Prince**

His first victory had left him confident; the next ten had made him cocky. He had felt invincible as he stepped into the arena for the last time, confident despite the knowledge of who his opponent would be. That invincibility had lasted only seconds. Now, he was fighting for his life.

A deadly jolt of voltage swept over the sand like a shark through water, bearing down upon its prey. The fox dived at the last second, landing sprawled on the gritty floor of the arena, inches from death. He breathed in short, frantic bursts, his chest constricted with terror. The tunic he'd been wearing under his chainmail was all but ripped to shreds, the mail itself long gone, exposing the slick orange fur beneath.

Clutching at the scorch mark that had been burned into his chest fur only moments previously, the fox scrambled desperately backwards, avoiding a pair of deadly claws by only inches. In fear, he found himself gazing up into the cold, violet eyes of his opponent.

With a squeak of fear, the formerly confident fox scrambled to his feet and fled. But he didn't get far before he was knocked back down by a large bullet of stone to the back. Gasping, and wondering if one of his shoulder blades had been cracked, the fox rolled over onto his side and tried to see through the haze of pain.

Heavy paws thudded into the sand beside his head and he saw a flash of purple before pain lanced through his body. He screamed in agony, voltage ripping through his veins, tearing him apart from the inside out. A solid blow to the chest sent him flying, and he landed wincing metres away, hardly conscious.

Vaguely he could hear the sound of the crowd howling for blood, and the icy claw of fear clenched his gut. Heavy, deliberate footfalls alerted him to the presence of his opponent, stalking ever closer. Blinking grit and tears from his eyes, the fox tried to push himself back up.

He found himself staring into the merciless face of a dragon, and knew in that moment that he was a fool to ever think of defeating this opponent. No one defeated him, not even the best gladiators of the arena. After all, he was the best of them all.

"Please," the fox croaked, his throat cracked and dry. But he was met only by an icy cold stare from his merciless opponent.

No mercy. Mercy was unheard of in the arena.

The howls of the watching crowd grew to a crescendo. There was no doubt amongst anyone what was coming. They were not disappointed.

With a bitter sneer, the dragon thrust his deadly claws deep into the chest of his opponent. The fox twitched violently and coughed feebly. He tasted blood at the back of his throat, a metallic tang that did nothing to sooth the burning sensation. Disbelieving emerald eyes shifted from the cold gaze of the dragon to the claws buried deep in his flesh.

Scowling, the dragon ripped his claws from the chest of the fox, spraying blood across the sand. The crowd cheered as the fox crumpled slowly, blood gushing from the fatal wound. Coldness was spreading through his body, from his limbs to his failing heart. Gaping soundlessly, his roving eyes sought out those of his defeater.

The dragon stared coldly back at him, until the light faded from the fox's eyes. His blood soaked into the sand, to join that of many more victims before him. The crowd had gone eerily silent, until a loud voice boomed over the stadium.

"Another victory for our resident prince! Did we expect any less from the legendary purple dragon? I don't think so!"

Amidst the sounds of cheers and applause, the purple dragon turned and left the arena, a trail of bloodstained paw prints in his wake.


	8. Capture

**A/N: Have a oneshot to tide you over until I return from vacation in a week. Thanks to Jimbob776 for the idea for this one. ;)  
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**Capture**

_These are dangerous times for a dragon to be wandering about…_

Cynder knew that all too well the night she left the Dragon Temple, but fear had never stopped her before and she was determined it would not stop her now. She told herself she was leaving nothing behind but a life where she was unwanted amongst dragons she had once hurt. Whatever lay out in the darkness beyond the temple could not sway her from making this decision. After all, she was only leaving a place where she did not belong.

But where was there for a young dragon to go on a dangerous, dark night?

Spreading blood-red wings, so much smaller than they had once been, she soared into the night sky above the swamp. The shriek of a Dreadwing almost forced her out of the sky, and she spun around in alarm to see the sky was thick with the menacing, bat-like beasts. Her black scales were mercifully hidden by the shadow of night, and the Dreadwings did not see her as they flocked overhead – towards the Dragon Temple.

They were under attack.

Cynder almost turned back there and then, but reminded herself sternly that the guardians – and Spyro – could take care of themselves. She would be no help, anyway, she told herself. So, fighting against the urge to return and help the dragons that had so graciously taken her in, she wheeled away from the Dragon Temple and soared into the night.

She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away from the temple. Somewhere out there, her destiny was waiting for her. It _had_ to be. But she was certain it did not wait in the dreary swamp below her.

Her wings were getting tired by the time dawn was approaching. As the horizon turned a pale violet colour, Cynder decided against her better judgement that she needed to land. Beating tired wings, she circled over the grove below her, looking for somewhere to land. Minutes later, she descended quietly into the trees.

The grass beneath her paws was cold, wet and an odd navy blue in colour. The black dragoness took a moment to take in her surroundings. It was still very dark, but her keen emerald eyes quickly picked out the gnarled trees that surrounded her, and the luminous mushrooms at their feet. Unknowingly, she had just descended into a place known as the Ancient Grove.

Shoulders drooping tiredly, Cynder looked around for a place to rest where she would be hidden. She caught sight of something bright and purple between the trees, and curiously plodded over to inspect. It seemed to be almost glowing, whatever it was.

Slipping through tightly packed trees, Cynder soon found herself at the edge of a slow-moving river. She gazed down at the bright purple water and had no doubt that it was poisonous. As she watched, a single leaf fell from a tree hanging over the river and gently floated down to rest on the rippling water. It hissed and corroded within seconds, and left nothing behind to suggest that it had ever been there.

Grimacing, Cynder glided over the poisonous river and slipped through the trees on the opposite bank. She had a feeling this grove wasn't very hospitable, especially if the waters were that poisonous. She hoped she didn't run into any native wildlife. Would they be as poisonous as the river?

Her luck held out until dawn, when the grove opened up into a large clearing that led to a steep cliff-face down to the lapping ocean waves below. Cynder padded to the edge of the cliff to stare out across the ocean, wings drooping in exhaustion. The night was almost over, and she hadn't slept a wink.

She was just wondering what lay beyond the vast ocean, and whether she had the courage to find out, when she heard something behind her. Quick as a flash, the dragoness spun around and bared her teeth with a low snarl. The sight she saw made her falter, but only for an instant.

Five creatures had stepped out of the trees behind her – short, squat canines with slobbering tongues, somewhat reminiscent of the apes Cynder had once commanded. They were wearing strange, red and white striped clothing, and had sashes around their middles through which wickedly-sharp cutlasses were thrust. Heavy golden earrings weighed down their pointed, drooping ears.

"Looks like we got a feisty one 'ere, 'ey boys?" one of the canines sneered, and the others snickered excitedly. Cynder snarled menacingly, well aware of the steep drop behind her.

Another uttered an unintelligent chuckle, "Bet the cap'n'll like this 'un, won't 'e?"

'_Captain?'_ Cynder thought, frowning but never dropping her snarl, _'Are they pirates?'_

The apes had once spoken of the pirates, long ago, when Cynder had still been the Terror of the Skies. She remembered them telling tales of a fleet of Skavengers, who travelled the world looking for combatants to fight in their arena. And she had a feeling that, if she did not act soon, she would soon become one.

"Get 'er, you mangy mutts!" the largest canine growled, brandishing his cutlass, "She'll be fine prize for the cap'n!"

They lunged before Cynder had a chance to dodge. With a yell, she jumped backwards and her hind legs slipped off the edge of the cliff. Panicked, she flapped her tired wings desperately and latched her forepaws into the sash of the nearest canine. He tried to grab her with grubby paws, but she hauled herself back up and shot between his legs before he could. A cutlass swished by her head, so close she felt the wind against her cheek, and she rolled to the side.

"Don't kill 'er, idiots!" shouted the large canine, who Cynder presumed was the leader, "We want 'er alive!"

Growling, Cynder spun around and slashed the nearest pirate across the paw with her deadly sharp tailblade. He howled and dropped his cutlass, staggering back to nurse his wounded paw. The black dragoness snarled at the rest, but realised too late that she had been surrounded.

Opening her mouth, she tried to breathe a torrent of flame upon them, as she could have done had she still been the fearsome Terror of the Skies. But nothing but a pitiful puff of air left her jaws, and her eyes widened in fear. The canines chuckled darkly.

"We got you now, little dragon."

In a last desperate attempt to escape, Cynder flung herself bodily at the pirates, tearing at their clothing with her tiny sharp claws. But she was flung aside all too easily, and landed winded on the dew-soaked ground as the pirates advanced. Struggling to get back up, she didn't see the pirate sneak up behind her. But she felt it when he slammed the pommel of his cutlass into the side of her head.

Stars burst in her vision and the last thing she thought before she fell unconscious was how ironic it all was. The former Terror of the Skies, a beast feared above all others, captured by five, mangy pirates. And they probably didn't even realise what they'd just caught.

She was almost smiling as darkness closed in.


	9. Shadows

**A/N: I'm alive! I think. Yeah, I've been really lazy the last week, but here's another one shot. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it's greatly appreciated.  
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**Shadows**

_Spyro, stop!_

That voice…so fragile…so afraid. Where had it come from? Who had it come from? He couldn't remember anymore, and as he tried in vain to reach out to those faded memories they slipped away like tendrils of mist between his claws. His head was full of static noise, a deafening roar like that of water falling from a great height to crash upon jagged stones below.

He couldn't see. His vision was filled with light and shadow, clashing and waring before him, twisting into haunting shapes. Desperately he struggled in the hold of _something_ that held him, like a bird trapped in a predator's grip. But he could not break free. He was drowning in shadow…suffocating in light.

_I…I can't…_

That voice, so frail and weak; was it his own? He had not felt himself speak, but the words had tumbled forth nonetheless. For a second the claws that held him loosened, and the shadows that obscured his vision faded—but only for an instant. Then it tightened again, around his squirming body, and the darkness enclosed.

But in that instant he'd almost broken free, he'd seen something through the shadows. A pair of terrified, green eyes. He knew those eyes. But who did they belong to? His memory flickered and waned in the inescapable grip of whatever it was that held him captive.

Something collided with his body, so suddenly that he was wrenched from his prison with violent force. His body struck cold stone and he laid stunned, shadows and light receding from his vision. The deafening roar inside his head had stopped, and he opened painfully dry eyes. Shapes blurred and focused before him, until he found himself staring at a familiar figure.

Words tumbled from his tongue, excuses and apologies. A feeling of utmost shame had wormed its way into his heart, and he could not shift it. He felt so very weak, so very ashamed. But the figure before him smiled and offered only soothing words.

Forgiveness.

"You're ok, Spyro. You're with friends."


	10. Beside You

**A/N: 'bout time I uploaded another of these. I still have a bunch. Just been too lazy to upload. Have some Sparx. This was weird to write...I didn't think the little guy had much in his head. But this just sort of came out of nowhere. I don't really know whether it seems in character or not, but...whatever. Enjoy.**

**Beside You**

I was never prepared for any of this.

Maybe I'm just a coward; maybe I never really saw things the way you did. Maybe I'm not as strong as you, or as selfless; maybe all I ever cared about was myself.

Or maybe life just isn't fair.

You know, I swore to stay beside you no matter what, even before you decided to up and leave like you did. You were my brother, heck, you still are. And if anyone thought I was ever gonna desert you, they were _dead wrong_. But, when I decided I'd always stay with you, I never really thought about what that meant. A part of me never even thought we'd leave the boundaries of the swamp.

Man, how wrong _that_ was.

I was scared, you know. For me. For you. Not that I ever showed it. As if. But I'm not gonna try to hide that now. Hey, maybe you even saw through me; maybe you knew I was terrified.

Nah.

But, even though I was scared of dying, there was something else that scared me more. You and I…we've always been together. From the first moments we can remember; every second, every minute, every day. We were together. And you were all I had. You weren't just my brother; you were my _best_ _friend_.

And I was so afraid of being alone.

It's stupid really. I can't ever be as selfless as you. Everything you did was for someone else; everything you accomplished was for the good of the world. Man, do you _know_ how corny that sounds? But me, well, I was always thinking of myself. Sticking with you because I was too scared of being alone…yeah, that fear was greater than anything else that could drag me away from you.

But it's not like I wasn't ever thinking of you! You're my bro, man. I've gotta look out for you, right? It's my job.

Some brother I am.

What did I ever do for you? I don't even know. Sure, maybe I saved your scales once or twice, but that's nothing compared to how many times you protected me. But still, you never complained. Guess you're just that selfless.

Sometimes, life just really sucks. What'd you do to deserve this? Everyone's just counting on you, expecting you to fix all their damn problems. Why couldn't they just fix their own problems? You shouldn't have to do everything, man! That isn't right! So what if you're some sort of special, once-in-a-purple thing?

We could have had a good life.

You and me, in the swamp, no cares, no worries, just living every day as it comes. What right did the world have to take that away from us? And yet you take it all without complaint. I hate it! Why don't you ever fight back? Why don't you look at your life and think 'why the heck should I have to do all this?' Why don't you think like me?

…Why can't I think like you?

I wasn't prepared for any of this, but that doesn't matter. Nothing's gonna take me away from you. Not life; not death. Life isn't fair to me, so why should I be fair to it?

If you won't fight back, I'll do it for you.


	11. Queen

**A/N: Just letting you know I'm still alive. Been a while since I've updated anything and all that... Wrote this ages ago. Not really sure if I'm happy with it, but what the hey. It should probably be considered a continuation of Second Chances. Enjoy~**

**Queen**

The chance to choose my own path through life was one never given to me. From the very start, my fate was chosen for me, my life planned out before I had even hatched. The choices I made from then on were haunted by the single influence of a beast I'd never met.

Gaul called him the Dark Master.

Everything I did was for him, for his benefit, whoever he was. What for? Why was my fate to serve this faceless, nameless master? I should have questioned it from the start. Was it contentment that made me stay, or just a lingering fear of the life outside the comforting darkness I had come to love?

Perhaps the darkness was contentment.

Or I was just a fool.

_..._

Shadows lengthened from the setting sun, spreading fingers of darkness across a barren land of rock and metal. In the distance, a blood red sky wept solemnly over the lifeless horizon. The harsh metal was cold beneath my paws, icy prickles under the skin of my pads. Like a ghost, the wind shifted and curled around my graceful, curving neck, and broke into tendrils that whispered away.

"Look at the sky," a harsh voice said behind me, unpleasantly familiar, "bleeding like the pitiful dragons of Warfang. They never stood a chance."

The great dragon city, razed to the ground in less than a day. It had taken years to build it, but only a day to tear it down. Such a waste; so much effort put to futile use. My eyes shifted to the ape behind me, spying the grim smile upon his scarred face. Emerald flashed in the bloody, sunset light.

"Always be gracious in victory, Gaul," I said smoothly, head arching higher with proud disdain. "The dragons of Warfang may not have stood a chance, but they were no less deserving of our respect."

Gaul's laugh was harsh and humourless, "Respect, Cynder? Years ago you would have torn them limb from limb without stopping to consider such foolishness. Did you show them respect when you destroyed their homes and murdered their families? When you slaughtered their final, lingering hopes? Where was your respect then?"

I did not meet his gaze; he did not deserve to meet my eyes, "They died honourable deaths. I respect that. Only cowards would die without a struggle. They may have lost, but they fought with their hearts."

"Until you cut them out," Gaul added with a cruel grin that split his scarred face, his emerald eye flashing and making him appear insane for one, unnerving moment.

"I do what must be done."

"For who?" the great ape grunted, and for a moment I thought he sounded concerned. Or perhaps it was just disdain in his voice. "For you? Or for the master?"

I did not answer. Perhaps it was because I did not have an answer, or that it was far too complicated for an _ape_ to understand. Or maybe I was just afraid of the answer; disgusted, bitter. Blood-red light reflected in my eyes.

"Three years, Cynder. I know you haven't forgotten him. I can see it in your eyes, no matter how you try to avoid mine. You still question yourself."

I remained still, as though I had been turned to stone, even as I heard Gaul step up to my side. Though I refused to look, I could feel his eyes on me—both real and fake. They seem to bore under my very scales, pinpricks of lancing heat. Again I reminded myself of just how smart this ape was. Even the Dark Master didn't seem to understand.

"So, which is it?" he asked hoarsely, voice grating like stones scraping together. "Did you make the right choice? Or not?"

For a long time I was silent as a harsh battle raged somewhere inside me. What were these feelings? Remorse? Uncertainty? I had felt them before, but with every passing day they seemed stronger. But that was foolish.

"He would never have made it," I said at length, unable to hold back the sigh that followed.

"You don't know that," Gaul chuckled darkly. "If you had let him live, who knows how the world would have turned out. Even I may have no longer been alive."

"He was just a child," I replied harshly, glancing sideways at the ape for just a moment. "He was destined to die sooner or later. It was my choice for it to be at my claws. That night was fated to be his last."

"You sound like you're justifying yourself," Gaul replied slyly, "Is the great Queen of Darkness doubting herself?"

"I chose to do what had to be done," I said harshly, tail flicking dismissively. "Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you please, the night approaches; I wish to be alone."

The ape grunted and turned away, to my relief. I heard his heavy footsteps retreating into the metal fortress that marked the Dark Master's rule upon this land. But they stopped abruptly and I heard his grating voice once more.

"Even the shadows cannot mask your uncertainties. Ask yourself where your loyalties lie. You are the only one with the power to make such a choice."

His footsteps picked up again, slowly fading, and his final words were like a whisper on a cold, harsh wind.

"Dark Master or not, no one can hold a queen forever."

The wind became my only company when he was gone, but it was cold and intangible, and somehow left me feeling even more alone. I gazed at the blood-red sunset, even as it faded from the darkening sky, eyes roving over a barren, lifeless land. Nothing had escaped his merciless rule.

_I do what needs to be done…for whom? Even the shadows cannot hide me…even the darkness cannot comfort me. I am queen of nothing. Not even my own choices._

What would he have done had he lived? If I had not decided his fate that night…

But those are foolish thoughts. He was fated to die that night, if not by my claws then by another's. I do not make mistakes. Whether trapped or not, the choices I make are still my own. I do what needs to be done.

_But I will not be a prisoner any longer._

The swipe of a sickle blade; the severed shackles clattered to the ground. It was a satisfying, liberating sound.

I swiped them off the edge of the platform and watched them tumble, helpless, to the rocky wasteland below. The last of the setting sun's light caught their metallic sheen for a fleeting moment, and then they were gone, like the uncertainties that held me back.

Raising my head skyward, I beheld the newborn blanket of night that stretched across the heavens. A red moon stared back at me, full and unhindered by its hiding green twin. For the first time in many years, I smiled.

A true smile.

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. :D Hope you enjoyed this mini oneshot. Also, Feanor the Dragon, your ideas are epic. Definitely keeping them in mind. ;)**


	12. Eternal

**A/N: Yes, yes I'm alive. I know, shocking. Not much to say really. If you want to know what's going on with my other stories, check my profile for info. There's also a poll on my profile I'd like everyone who hasn't already to vote on. In the meantime, have a tiny little drabble regarding my thoughts about what happened to Malefor. Since this is so tiny and unsatisfying, I'm going to upload another oneshot that's been kicking around for ages. But it's a little longer than the chapters I want here, so I'll upload it on its own.**

**And Feanor, thanks for the ideas and quotes. :P I'm going to have to start keeping a list of them. Enjoy, everyone. :)**

**Eternal**

_Forever…I will last forever…_

His feeble struggles continued in desperation as his mind was wrenched forcefully from his body. Erratic flashes of violet light and indigo shadows filled his vision. He tried desperately to escape the clutches of whatever it was that was dragging him down, insistent thoughts shrieking within.

_I will live forever! With or without a body! I survived a thousand years! I will last forever!_

But fate did not agree with him, nor even hear his words. It dragged him under, down into everything and nothing, away from existence. He lashed out before he realised he no longer had claws or even paws. There was nothing. Though he tried desperately to move, he could not struggle against the non-existent resistance that held him.

There was nothing to struggle against. He was sinking, dissolving, becoming nothing.

_I…_

Even the violet flashes disappeared and he found himself gazing not at darkness, but at emptiness—a sight no living being could ever comprehend. A sight only seen without eyes.

_I am…_

Somewhere, in the final corners of whatever remained of his fading mind, he realised this was his punishment. He, who had sought to last forever, stripped of his right as a dragon, his spirit torn away from nature. There was no hope he could offer to the future. There was no life for his spirit to live.

His final thought before all existence was extinguished was nothing more than a lie. For no sooner had he thought it, was that very thing stripped from his essence. Eternity.

_I am eternal!_


	13. Mellow

**A/N: Chapter 24 of Residual Darkness is about half edited. Bear with me. In the mean time, have a random one shot.**

**Mellow**

Her first weeks at the temple were disorientating and unusual, but not exactly unpleasant. Around the guardians she was automatically on edge, and her tenseness did not go unnoticed by them. There were times when she found herself unable to linger comfortably in the same room as the older dragons, haunted by a lingering uneasiness around creatures that had once been her enemies.

Perhaps it was that she expected them to act like Gaul once had. The ape king had been a harsh caretaker and an even harsher teacher. Tolerance was not a word he understood, and Cynder had suffered mightily for it in her short life before the corruption. Even more so, she feared the lingering resentment that the guardians may still have harboured for her. But she could not blame them—she had caused them far greater pain than Gaul had ever delivered to her.

However, as the days past, Cynder found her fears were—strangely—unfounded. True, she did not miss the hint of apprehension that shadowed the ice guardian's expression whenever he laid eyes upon her, and the yellow one—Volteer?—seemed oddly nervous around her. Although, according to the purple dragon, the nervous babbling was usual for the electric guardian. But despite her worries and unease, she felt no animosity from these dragons.

It was a cold night, with a bitter chill in the air, when Cynder stumbled upon one of the guardians alone beside the vision pool, as Spyro called it. She had been unable to sleep, haunted by strange nightmares that consisted only of tangles and bursts of light and shadow. But now, stepping into the eerily green-lighted room to find the dark, massive form of the earth guardian alone, Cynder wished she'd stayed with the nightmares.

Perhaps it was the green of his scales that reminded her of Gaul and his horrible emerald eye, but when he turned to look at her she froze as solid as ice. The irises of his tired eyes, illuminated by the strange luminosity emitted by the pool, were the exact shade that the ape king's fake one had been. Cynder's breath caught in her throat.

"Can you not sleep, young dragon?" his voice had a deep rumbling quality that reminded her of shifting earth and seemed to reverberate in her very bones. He sounded weary…and sad. Some of the apprehension melted from her scales.

"Y-Yes…" she stammered softly, lowering her face away from his. She was hesitant to mention the nightmares, for Gaul had once dubbed her weak for suffering from the dark, troubled dreams. No sympathy had been found from him and she feared this guardian would be no different.

"Sleep does not come easily to an old warrior," the old earth dragon said tiredly, to Cynder's surprise. "Their dreams are full of long ago battles, both won and lost, and friends they could not save from the tides of war."

She knew he was speaking about himself. More of her unease drifted away, seeping through her claws and into the stone floor beneath her feet. Hesitantly, she raised her head.

"I have nightmares too. Of darkness…and light. I don't know what they mean, but…"

She hesitated, her eyes shifting to the face of the guardian—his kind, tired, gentle face. She saw none of Gaul's animosity there. All of a sudden, she was not afraid to admit it.

"They frighten me."

"Even warriors fear nightmares," the guardian sighed, laying down heavily and curling his paws under his chest. "Against dreams, we are all powerless. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

Quietly, Cynder padded to the edge of the pool and sat down, not far from the guardian but not too close. For a moment she gazed at her distorted reflection in the luminous green water, taking in the black scales, the silvery markings, and the emerald eyes. Gaul's eye…

Her gaze shifted shyly to the guardian and for the first time she realised that not all teachers were harsh. Even a battle-scarred warrior such as this could be soft and gentle when the need warranted it.

"Thank you. I think I will sleep here tonight."

His deep, mellow voice soothed the last lingering unease that plagued her, and she let herself drift softly into sleep.

"Sleep well, young dragon. May the ancestors bring you better dreams."


	14. Colourless

**A/N: One writes strange things when feeling melancholy... Set after the ending to DotD, disregarding the epilogue. Make of it what you will.**

He is running.

A great white path stretches out in front of him; a path of mist and fog. It feels smooth beneath his paws, like the surface of crystal. Smooth and cold. If he looks down, he can see himself reflected in the fog. But he doesn't look down. He doesn't like what he sees.

He can feel something dripping down his scales; a warm, thick liquid. It slides slowly over his face, his back, his limbs, his tail, and leaves puddles behind him in the white fog. Puddles of colour.

It is real colour, not like the feeble lights that cut the sky above him. But is it sky? He doesn't remember what sky is, but it is a word he remembers from long ago. The sky is a strange thing. It never decides on one colour, always shifting and changing and turning above him. It isn't real colour, he decides. Not like the colour that drips from his scales.

His paws strike the fog with great force and every stride carries him further, but there is no sound in this world. Each step is silent, each ragged breath unheard. Even the splashes of colour are soundless as they strike the path of mist. He doesn't stop running.

He doesn't remember why he is here. Or where here is. Or where he was before he was here. Or…_what_ he is. All he remembers is running forever, leaving his colour behind. The fake colours in the sky mock him with every step, and every drop of colour left behind.

For a long time, though he has no knowledge of time, he runs. The fog path is endless, and his reflection begins to taunt him. But he doesn't want to look at it. He doesn't like what he sees.

Colour splashes around his paws and he stumbles, catching himself on paws streaked with liquid purple. He cannot stop his eyes from seeing the reflection that stares back at him. Purple drips down his face in thick rivers of sludge, revealing the colourless surface beneath. Even his eyes. Lilac tears stream down the whites of his eyes and over onto his cheeks, joining the darker streaks as they slip from his scales.

He tears his weeping eyes away from the reflection and does the only thing he can. He keeps running. Colour splashes behind him, but he cannot hear it. He just keeps running.

Eternities pass. But there is no time here. No more than there is sound. Ahead of him, something rises from the path of fog. It is tall, flat and shapeless, and he stops running before he reaches it. With slow steps, he approaches the object, stepping in puddles of his own colour as it drips from his paws. He can see straight through the flat object. Another figure is walking towards him on the other side.

On either side of the object, they stop. They are almost touching, nose to nose, eye to eye. But he soon realises that he is not staring through the object, but into it. The figure inside stares back.

_Mirror_.

He remembers the word now. The figure staring back is him—his reflection, just like the one in the fog. But this reflection is different. Its colour isn't bleeding. This reflection is full, whole and perfect. Its lilac eyes are sad as it considers its bleeding counterpart.

As he gazes at himself in the mirror, he wonders what his name was. And then he wonders what a name is, because it is a strange word and he cannot remember. Maybe _he_ is the reflection, and this coloured doppelganger is the real him. Maybe he is inside the mirror.

But the reflection closes its eyes and turns away. The mirror fades into mist and a great sense of sadness encroaches. He stares desolately along the endless path, and when he looks down, he sees colour still bleeding from his scales. Closing his own eyes, he continues slowly on his way.

When he opens his eyes again, another mirror has risen from the fog. He stops before it and stares into emptiness, wondering where the reflection has gone. But it doesn't take long before something appears out of the white expanse inside the mirror. The figure this time is orange. Or is it red? It is much larger than the last reflection, and he knows it is not his own. But then who does it belong to?

Its amber eyes are sad, and he feels his own pang of sadness again. The reflection does not stay for long this time. It turns away and the mirror retreats once more into mist. He carries on.

More mirrors greet him with every few steps, and in each he sees a different reflection. Something about them seems familiar, but he cannot remember. Green, blue, yellow… They are all much larger than he is, and their colours are full and real. None of them bleed like he does.

Another mirror rises. The reflection in this one is different. Small, frail, and glowing like the sun. He feels as though he has never seen a brighter shade of yellow. It only makes the sadness at his own bleeding colours that much stronger. The reflection reaches a tiny hand towards him and he reaches too. But the mirror fades and disappears into mist, and once more he stares down an empty path.

Solemnly, he carries on.

It is some time before the next mirror rises. He can feel the rivers of colour dripping from his scales growing thinner, bleeding themselves out. By the time he stops in front of the last mirror, he wonders if he has any colour left at all. He doesn't dare to look.

The reflection in this mirror isn't looking at him. It sits with its back to him, hunched and shaking over a figure that he cannot see. He stares at the reflection for a long time, wondering why it seems so familiar. It isn't like the others. They were colourful, bright and pure. This reflection is black, like darkness.

Slowly, it turns its head, and he can see a colourless liquid dripping down its face.

_Tears._

He remembers what tears are now. Sadness. He tries to reach the figure in the mirror, but his paw goes straight through. Liquid pools in the corners of his own eyes and drips down his cheeks in thin trails. He knows it isn't colour.

A name is on his lips and he screams it desperately, for he knows it belongs to the reflection. But no sound comes from his mouth, for there is no sound here. He swipes at the mirror in desperation and despair, but he cannot reach the figure. He cannot comfort her.

_Her._

He wishes he could hear the name on his lips. Then perhaps he'd remember what it was. But everything is soundless. And everything is colourless.

The reflection fades, taking her with it, and the mirror turns to liquid that drains slowly into the misty path. He stands and stares at the space where it had been…and moves on.

No more mirrors stand in his way. Along the endless path he runs, until at last he stumbles and stops. When he turns his head to look behind him—at the path he had run—he sees an endless trail of purple colour extending into infinity. His colour. He looks down at his paws and sees only white. Slowly, he turns his eyes to his reflection.

A last purple tear rolls from the corner of his eye, down his colourless muzzle, and lands soundlessly between his paws. But that tiny splotch of colour cannot hide the reflection that stares back at him.

He is colourless.

In sadness and defeat, he raises his head and looks onwards, towards infinity, where the path of mist stretches on forever. One slow step, and then another, and again he is running, leaving his colour behind. He does not look back again.

There is a long way to go.

And no destination to reach.


	15. Foolish Love

**A/N: Why am I updating this on the same night I updated RD? I don't know. But have it anyway. I wrote this a while ago, and it was originally going to be its own oneshot (separate from this compilation)...until I realised I'd forgotten one very important detail. Spyro and Cynder were chained in DotD. Yeah. So...consider this as a random AU in which they _weren't_ chained in DotD. And they spent longer finding their way out of the catacombs. And stuff. Whatever. Just read it.**

_A moment alone; a chance to think. On a cold night in Twilight Falls, Cynder comes to terms with a truth that she has been denying for too long. Her feelings for Spyro go far beyond simple friendship. And she hates it._

* * *

><p><strong>Foolish Love<strong>

Long navy grass parted reluctantly as a set of dainty paws flattened it cautiously to the damp earth. Her steps were muted by the soft pads on the base of her paws, but she could not silence the swish of grass as it brushed gently against her scales. It tickled a point just above her ankles, and occasionally a blade would catch in the silvery shackles that bound her forelegs and be torn away from its brethren. But she shook the grass off irritably and continued on her way.

The night was dark and cold. It had been this way since they had escaped the stifling chambers of the ancient catacombs below ground, and already it felt as though hours had passed. But the night was still fresh, and of the rising sun there was no sign. Briefly, Cynder wondered how far off dawn was. She had not realised how much she had missed sunlight until now. Those days lost in the catacombs had felt endless, but freedom felt strangely incomplete without the sun there to welcome them.

This was not the first time Cynder had experienced a night that had seemed endless, but it was definitely the only one such that had felt so peaceful. She couldn't decide what was worse. This endless serenity was almost stifling, and she almost wished for a bite of action just to take the edge off her nerves. But the grublins were already long gone—she and Spyro had seen to that not so long ago. The marks were still there to prove it; fresh scratches and open scars that burned like fire in the cool night breeze. A part of her relished the pain for the distraction it provided.

She wondered how Spyro was faring, and cursed herself for letting him enter her thoughts once again. He was clumsier in battle than she was, but the power he possessed surpassed hers by far. It had been hard to tell whether the injuries he had sustained had been any worse than hers. Somehow she doubted it. Despite his clumsiness, few grublins had been able to dodge his searing flames and get close enough to even touch him. A smile tweaked Cynder's mouth, but it fell away almost instantly. Even when she tried to get away, he still found his way into her thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Cynder raised her head and sought out her destination in the near distance. A shallow stream trickled quietly through the forest, gentle and slow-moving, unlike the churning waters further up towards the falls. A quick glance assured the dragoness that there were no grublins still lingering nearby—they had been thorough, it seemed—and she made her way to the edge of the stream.

The face of a dragoness with smooth black scales, like chips of obsidian, stared back at her from the gently moving waters, distorted slightly. A pair of bluish-green eyes narrowed, and Cynder sat back with a sigh. The grass was damp, but she paid it no heed. A moment of stillness reminded her how cold it was and she tucked her wings closer against her body, searching for warmth within herself. The red moon greeted her solemnly when she raised her head to the sky, but the green moon hid shyly behind a clump of trees.

Perhaps Spyro was wondering where she was.

"Stop it," Cynder growled suddenly. There was no one around to hear her, but the words were aimed at herself. When only silence answered her remark, she snorted and shook her head.

She had already told Spyro she wanted some time alone. Maybe he had thought she wanted time to hunt, or maybe he had noticed the slight edge to her voice and the frustration in her eyes. No, he wasn't that perceptive. Despite herself, Cynder smiled again, a wry sort of smirk. Sparx, that annoying glow-worm, was more perceptive than he was. She had left both of them with their newest ally, the cheetah who called himself Hunter. He was the strong and silent sort, and had already proved a helpful companion, but something about him reminded Cynder of old days that she would rather forget. Of burning huts and the acrid smell of charred fur.

_Cheetahs_… _I know I've met them before._

Cynder shook her head roughly, feeling the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. Even thinking of Spyro was better than recalling those memories. Unnerved, she kneaded the ground for a few moments and tried to ignore the way the darkness around her suddenly seemed so much more threatening. Shadows reached for her with spindly fingers and the air turned frigid, threatening to suffocate her. But then she blinked and the image was gone. The night was cold, but calm and comforting.

"Why am I here?" Cynder asked herself, more to keep the silence at bay than anything. Her voice sounded strange in the quiet. Only the gentle lapping of the stream answered her.

Maybe Spyro was thinking of her.

With a stamp of her paw, Cynder gritted her teeth together and snorted in derision.

_Stupid_.

Why would Spyro think of her? He had more important things to think about. The fate of the world. The Dark Master. The fact that he had gone missing for three years when the Dragon Realms had needed him most. Compared to those pressing matters, Cynder was little more than an afterthought.

"So it should be," she grumbled aloud to herself. Even if she had been someone else—someone who didn't used to be known by the title 'Terror of the Skies'—Spyro didn't need such a distraction by his side at this time. What he needed was someone loyal, someone selfless, someone willing to fight beside him and help him walk the path that was expected of him without worrying about their own problems. Someone who wasn't a burden.

Cynder only wished that someone was her. But she had already proven herself a burden to him when he had fought his way through the Well of Souls just to rescue her. He didn't need someone like her at his side. This was why she had made up her mind, after waking from her crystallised sleep, to become someone he could rely on without question. Someone he didn't need to worry about. Someone he didn't need to think about.

_But I still wish he would…_

A wordless cry of annoyance left Cynder's lips abruptly and she stood up, swishing her tail in irritation.

"I came here to get him out of my head!" she exclaimed to no one. "Stop thinking about him!"

The wind whistled mournfully in response and Cynder sat down heavily again, gazing at her distorted reflection in the stream. But the sight offended her and she looked away, focusing instead on a tiny cluster of green spirit gems in the distance.

"Why _can't_ I stop thinking about him?" she mumbled.

_Stupid. You already know._

Cynder closed her eyes quickly and shook her head, defiant. Of course she already knew. She had known for ages. It had only taken a few months of unconditional friendship from the purple dragon back at the Dragon Temple for her heart to open up. Had that really been three years ago? It only seemed like yesterday. And yet…

"No," Cynder growled, stamping her foot. "_No_. You promised yourself you'd get over this. It _can't_ happen, it _won't_ happen, and it _shouldn't_ happen. Get a grip on yourself, Cynder."

She'd told herself long ago, although it didn't seem like long ago, shortly before she had left the Temple that she would give up on those childish fantasies. All those daydreams, all those foolish thoughts and wishes she'd had—they were poison. They needed to stop.

So why wouldn't they?

The dark dragoness groaned and tipped her head back, staring again at the moons hanging silently in the sky, sentinels of the night. Whenever she let her mind wander, he was there. Not the Spyro she knew, but the one from her daydreams. The one who always greeted her with a smile, who showered her with praise and saw through all her flaws. The one who returned the foolish love she had for him.

Her eyes glazed over and she saw him again; a handsome, love-struck fool with only eyes for her. She smiled dazedly and imagined the gentle words he whispered to her, the affectionate nuzzle, the loving embrace. Until she realised what she was doing, and the illusion shattered.

Furious with herself, Cynder tore her eyes away from the moon and glowered at her own reflection. The black dragoness in the water glared back at her, defiant and angry, and Cynder couldn't contain a sneer.

"You can dream as much as you like," she told her reflection bitterly, "but that isn't going to make it real. He is never going to like you in that way. _Never_. And that is how it should be."

_But why not?_ Her reflection seemed to ask, a look of painful longing behind the anger in her eyes. Cynder's shoulders drooped as she gazed at herself. All her flaws, laid painfully obvious before her eyes. There was no escaping them here, staring back at her with her own eyes. All the reasons why he could never—_should_ never love her.

"Because he doesn't deserve someone like me," she whispered to her reflection. "He deserves someone better."

Her eyes roved over the angles of her face, sharp and unforgiving even in the dim light of the moons. A scar curved its way down her cheek, a remnant of some long lost battle, and her scales were as dark and cold as the Dark Master's heart. If he even had one. She saw corruption, anger and hate in that face, and her eyes, so intense in their bitterness, only fed that image.

_Ugly_.

With a cry like a wounded animal, Cynder clawed the surface of the stream, sending droplets of water flying in every direction. The reflection disappeared in the chaos, just as she had intended, but the memory of her face, so hideous in its scars, remained frozen behind her eyes. A dry sob left her lips and she sat back, water dripping down her scales to dampen already damp grass.

"And why…why would he like me anyway?" she asked the night haltingly. "How…how would you feel if your former enemy—someone who tried to _kill_ you—fell in love with you? How can he look at me without seeing the monster I was…I _am_?"

"I know it can't ever happen, so why…" her voice caught in her throat and she screwed her eyes shut against a sudden onset of burning tears. "Why do I feel this way?! Why do I like him so much?!"

"What did he do to deserve these despicable feelings of mine…?"

The stream had settled again, returning to its natural rhythm despite Cynder's attempt to disrupt it. As she opened her eyes, she found herself staring sadly at her reflection again. It wasn't the first time she wished with all her heart that she was someone else. But she remained Cynder, and it was Cynder's face that continued to stare at her from the water.

_Can I really be blamed?_

He was the one who had extended the hand of friendship. He had saved her life when he should have just left her to die. Twice. And she had never been treated so kindly by anyone as she had been by him. It was inevitable that she should develop feelings for him.

_No…that isn't true._

He had offered her friendship. Instead, she had fallen in love. How despicable.

_I'm so sorry, Spyro…_

"Cynder?"

The black dragoness turned as rigid as stone. She didn't dare turn her head to check, but his voice had come from behind, and she could almost feel his presence standing there. Watching.

How long had he been there?

A few beats of silence passed, and Cynder didn't move a muscle. She prayed she had imagined it, that Spyro was still sitting by the campfire where she had left him—not standing behind her. But she heard the gentle crunch of grass being flattened under paws and knew that wasn't the case. He was here. And he was approaching. Still, she refused to turn around.

"Is everything okay?"

"What do you want, Spyro?" she asked, sharper than she intended. She heard him falter and felt a twinge of guilt, but didn't turn around.

"I just…wondered where you were. I wanted to make sure you were alright." His voice was uncertain, concerned. Cynder felt her bitterness melt away, despite herself, and her eyes burned with guilty tears.

_He still worries about me._

"I'm fine. I just needed some time to think." She didn't trust herself to face him, and hoped he understood. He approached slowly, until she could almost feel his breath on her back. A shiver ran down her neck to the tip of her tail.

"If you're sure…"

"I'm fine," she said sharply, and immediately regretted it. She felt the way he flinched, even though she didn't see it. A sigh threatened to escape her lips, but she held it back, just like she did her tears. He shouldn't have to see her like this.

"I'm just trying to understand," he said gently.

That did it.

He'd last spoken those words to her three years ago, and she had ignored them. All she'd done back then was create more trouble for him, even though she'd tried her hardest to distance herself so that such a thing would not happen. She'd tried to push him away, and had only made things worse for him. She couldn't do that to him again.

Blinking away the film of tears that had glazed over her eyes, she turned her face to his. His eyes showed only concern and compassion for the one before him. Cynder couldn't help the way her heart melted.

It was foolish.

It was despicable.

But she had fallen in love.

There was no need for words; at least, not to her. Silently, she closed her eyes and let her head fall forward until her forehead made contact with his shoulder. He started in shock, but Cynder made no move to do anything more. She merely sat there, head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent she had come to love. Hesitantly, he relaxed, and she felt him pat her paw awkwardly, as though he was unsure what else to do. A sad sort of smile found its way onto her face.

There was no need for words.

_Please, let this be enough. Even if only for this night._


	16. Lionheart

**A/N: Ahahahaha...why am I posting something I just wrote in like... twenty minutes or something? I don't know, but I FELT LIKE IT. I like the idea that the only reason Spyro was able to bring the world back together was because Cynder was there with him to give him strength-even if it was just mental strength. So this. Now go look up the song 'King and Lionheart' by Of Monsters and Men, because it is the entire reason for this little oneshot. DO IT.**

_And as the world comes to an end, I'll be here to hold your hand, 'cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart._

_- King and Lionheart; Of Monsters and Men_

**Lionheart**

From the screech of crumbling rock as the earth itself was rent to shreds, to the uncontrollable trembling of life coming to an end, it seemed the world itself was screaming at her to be afraid. But even as shards of stone as sharp as knives peppered the unstable crystal beneath her paws, all she could feel was calm. A gentle smile graced her face. If the universe was to be torn apart at the seams, she would stand tall, the last unshakable pillar in a storm of destruction.

She wasn't afraid.

He spread his wings beside her, rising from the crystal, and her eyes followed him as he rose. Light bled from his scales, and when it grew too bright for her to bear, she didn't turn away. She merely closed her eyes. His light expanded fiercely—she felt it wash over her scales like a breath of warm air—and blended with the chaos of a dying world.

Maybe she was imagining it, but she could feel his strength wavering, trembling in the wake of the energy that was ripped from his body. It seemed to shudder through the air, tingling on the edges of her scales, and it gave her the image of a mountain ready to crumble. The chaos consumed him, ripping at his essence, tearing holes in the strength that had carried him here through fire and flames. He was shattering.

All along, she had expected the last standing pillar of strength to be him—that in the wake of destruction, only the purple dragon would stand tall. She didn't expect to feel him breaking beside her as his essence was torn to shreds by the very world he was trying to save. Strange now, surrounded by all this chaos, that she should feel so calm.

Maybe, all along, she had been prepared for this.

She could have all too easily let herself fall into the destruction, to become part of the dying world—but not this time. This time someone needed her strength. This time, she was the only pillar that kept the sky from falling.

This time, Spyro was the one who needed her. She was only too willing to give him that strength.

"_I love you." _


	17. Predecessor

**A/N: Waaaah, it's been like...foreverrr since I uploaded something. Have an old piece that I wrote months ago. Can't say whether or not I like it, but I do like the idea behind it. Maybe I'll rework this later...or write something similar, anyway. Enjoyyyy~**

**Predecessor **

"You should not have returned, Valour."

"I told you, I don't go by that name any more."

The harsh sounds of battle, shrieking in their ears. They did not hear; shrouded in an intangible veil that none could see. His eyes were sad, sunken in his withered face, as he gazed upon the purple dragon. Once vibrant scales were dim and lustreless, even in the warm light of the hungry fires below.

"Perhaps not. But, to me, you will always be Valour, my son."

"I'm not your son. I never _was_ your son, Searus. There is no blood shared between us."

The old fire guardian closed his tired eyes, his old wings beating slow and steady with the wind. The heat was nigh on unbearable, but he did not feel it. He felt nothing; just numb. Even the dying shrieks of his comrades fell upon deaf ears.

"Is it truly the blood we are born with that decides who our family is? You will always be my son."

His eyes opened and met those of the dragon hovering before him, silhouetted in an ash-streaked, dawn sky. But the eyes that stared back were not the eyes he remembered. They were cruel, cold, merciless, and filled with a hate that chilled his tired bones to the very core. They were not Valour's eyes.

"You are nothing to me, old one. None of these pitiful dragons are. You taught me everything you knew; you wanted me to be something better! But the instant I started to surpass you, you cast me away! I was strong! Stronger than all of you! I could have been so much more!"

"Yes. You could have." The guardian's eyes were dry, but his wounds wept for him. He could not feel their sting any longer, though they bit deep to his bones. They were nothing in the face of the numbness inside.

"But you banished me. _Why_? Were you jealous? Were you afraid? I thought you wanted me to be stronger! I thought you would have been _proud_!"

"And you still do not understand, my son. We had no choice."

"You had a choice." His voice was cold, like shards of jagged ice. "But you blew it."

"Forgive me, Valour."

"My name is _Malefor_!" His shriek of rage rent the air, splitting the sky in a jagged gash of anguished fury. The screams below reached higher pitches as the flames burst with extra life, rising to touch the bloody clouds. Stone grated on stone as the temple began to crumble.

The fire guardian closed his eyes as the beats of his tired wings grew slower, "I tried, my son. I tried. And I am sorry."

"You aren't sorry. You've just given up. You're pathetic."

"No, Valour," the old dragon wheezed, wings slowing, "I have nothing left to give up. You were all there ever was."

His wing beats stopped, and he plunged soundlessly towards the flames that consumed the earth below. The purple dragon watched emotionlessly as the old guardian disappeared into the raging inferno. Sparks launched skyward as though in welcome. Behind him, the sun rose ever higher into the ash-choked sky and the clouds were streaked with blood. Malefor's eyes glittered with reflected fire.

"A fitting end; that you should die by the very flames you gave me, old one. Now, the sun rises on _my_ victory."

With a final shrieking howl of shattering stone, the last standing remnants of the Dragon Temple collapsed into the raging firestorm.

**Hey look another A/N: So... Who wants me to upload the next chapter of RD, like...right now?**

**Thanks for reading, dearies. ;]**


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